“Wait, there are casinos for sale?” she asks, seeming surprised. All I can think is how ill-informed this lot is.
“Of course there are. There always are. It’s not like the casinos hammer a sign out in front of them though, geez. We’re talking about millions of dollars here. There’s got to be wheeling and dealing with anything in Vegas.” Fiona laughs. She seems to understand how things work, but it’s likely because she’s overheard it from her father.
“Well then, how do people know anything is for sale?”
“Because it’s not for sale to just anyone. This party is for those people to get to know each other and talk about what’s available and that sort of thing. It’s like a mixer for investors and casinos, in this case, looking for investors. Essentially, it’s a private gathering for all of these people to spend money and find new people to make money with. And, they all know my dad of course.” It seems perhaps she knows a bit more about business than I initially gave her credit for.
I continue to listen as the girls discuss the party, which I’m now certain is where I’ll make inroads with this pretty little thing. After they’ve spent more money on bags than most people in Las Vegas make in a week, they part ways, each stating they need to be somewhere else. Realizing this could be my chance, I wait for her to make her way from the store. My luck keeps getting better and better.
Fiona walks with determination, weaving in and out of the crowd, holding her shopping bags close. Her toned body is impossible to ignore, her skirt is skimming just below her round ass, and her tank top is completely cut out in the back, indicating there’s no bra under there. I can’t help but to ogle her as I saunter through the crowd myself, finally stopping as she enters a coffee shop. Before going in, I wait.
She orders a caramel latte and takes a seat farthest away from the window, tucking her newly purchased items against the wall. I go in and inhale deeply, even though I don’t need to. I love the smell of coffee, and I tend to make one at home from time to time, just to enjoy the scent as it reminds me of a cross between vanilla beans and fresh soil. There’s something lovely about it, and it’s a smell that’s been around for as long as I can remember.
With a cup of black coffee in my hand, I seek out the empty seat next to her. “Is this seat taken?” I ask in a smooth tone.
When her eyes meet mine, I feel as though I’m being compelled for just a moment. The icy blue color shines right through me as she looks up from her book. “Um, no. Please help yourself.” She motions at the chair before turning her attention back to her novel.
Taking the seat next to her, I see what she’s reading, but am unfamiliar with the words, and by chance, the title on the page is covered. Everything about her is too perfect. Her nails, makeup, and hair. Her vain superficiality turns my stomach, but I remind myself I have a goal to accomplish, and it’s to find myself in her favor. Regardless of how human she is.
“You look familiar; have we met?” I ask.
Looking annoyed at the interruption, she replies without looking at me again. “I don’t believe so.”
Becoming further frustrated with her disinterest, I continue. “I’m certain that we have. Aren’t you hosting the party this weekend for casino investors?”
Now that I’ve piqued her interest, she sets her book down and attempts to turn on her business charm. Her eyes move over me as she tries to remember where we’ve met before. “My apologies, but I don’t recall meeting you. Are you planning to attend the event?” She forms a fake smile.
“I am hoping to attend, yes.”
“Well, that will be lovely, Mr….?”
“Roman.” I hold my hand out to her, watching her body language shift when she feels the cold of my touch. As if on cue, she reaches up to fondle the cross that dangles at her neck.
“Mr… Roman,” she repeats quietly. She’s intriguing, watching my every move, studying me. I already know she’s never had contact with a vampire directly, that she’s aware of, so this encounter, friendly and short, is just enough. I’ve left my first impression, and stand to take leave.
“I’ll see you this weekend, Miss Weston.” I leave her sitting there without another glance. Only when I look back, she’s still touching her neck. My distaste for humans like her has not waned, regardless of her beauty. She judges me without knowing anything at all, and for that, I shall take what I need from her. Within reason, of course.
The next task on my agenda is to secure an invitation to her event where I’ll make my next move. Vampires are so well connected in every city, I easily could’ve arranged the invitation without meeting her to begin with, but planting the seed of intrigue is far more seductive than following her like a puppy at her event trying to meet her for the first time. As I leave the mall, I shut out everything around me, and focus on the sound of her rapid heartbeat.
4
Fiona
The night air is stifling, yet there’s something about the desert I’m starting to love. Brown has never been my color, but mix it with the red and orange of the sun, and it’s quickly become a shade I can appreciate. Don’t get me wrong, I’m counting the days until I can return to California, where I can dip my toes into the ocean and relax on the beach with enough of a breeze to keep me cool. This hot, tepid place is bad for my overall sense of being.
I turn and rest my elbows on the railing of my balcony. The glass doors separating the inside of my penthouse from my terrace are open, at least for the time being. Once fall arrives, I’ll have them open more so I can enjoy the somewhat cooler temperatures. Right now though, they have to remain shut. The last thing I want is for my guests to feel uncomfortable while I’m trying to sell them on everything Las Vegas has to offer.
One of the event planners finishes stringing the last of the white lights, while the other members of the staff simultaneously pop open the many champagne bottles needed to create the fountain I had to have. It’s frivolous, but Daddy’s paying and only the best will suffice when it comes to his checkbook.
Inside, soft music plays through the surround sound, setting the right type of ambiance. I turn the dial down one notch, satisfied with the decibel level. Too loud and people can’t think properly. Too quiet and you can hear each other’s conversations from across the room. Neither are moments I want to happen, especially tonight. Everything has to be perfect. My father is counting on one of the influential investors to pad his pockets with the purchase of the Majesty. I’ll receive a bonus, of course, and likely a European trip if I can seal the deal on the adjacent property as well.
Excusing myself, I slip into my bedroom and change rather quickly. Thankfully, my personal shopper does her job well and has an assortment of cocktail dresses for me to wear. I step into a little black sequins number with a scoop neck and no back. Moving from side to side in front of the mirror, I admire the way I look and start pulling my hair up and putting it back down, depending on which way I’m standing, to decide what style I like best. I finally decide on a half up, half down look, glancing over my shoulder to make sure enough of my back is showing. This, by far, is one of my favorite dresses. I make a mental note to ask my gal to buy more from this designer.
Tonight, we’ll pretend we’re all friends, having dinner and drinks, and sharing a casual conversation. The only business discussions taking place will be the subtle hints I drop about what my father’s looking for. Mostly cash, but he’s not above taking cars, boats and lakefront properties.
As I come out of my room, my doorman is opening the door. The first of the investors are here. Everything about them, I have memorized. From their faces, names, wives, and husbands, children, and their businesses. I know who's banging their secretary, whose wife has a hot cabana boy, and whose side piece is pregnant. Pregnancy is always a bigger scandal than an affair. I march forward with authority. My hand’s extended and instantly in Ginger Madhu’s hand, shaking it firmly. Ginger’s husband, Frederic, kisses me on both cheeks. I can’t stand him. He uses Ginger for her money, and because of this, I often refer to him as Fred, which he absolutely hates. He likes to pretend he’s French when he’s really from some small town in Oklahoma. He forgets I know everything.
“Ginger, I’m so happy you could make it.”